How I Got These Scars
by VulcanCheesecake
Summary: An AU JokerCrane fic for a contest. The challenge was to write a High School romance fic. This is quite dark and angsty, because I cannot STAND happy happy high school romances. That's just me. Enjoy, kiddies!


Lunch had only finished twenty minutes ago, and already Jonathan was bored in his lesson. He hadn't seen Jack that day, but wasn't too worried; Jack was hardly a stranger to skipping school. Why was he even thinking about the skinny teen? It wasn't like they were _friends _or anything. Jonathan chastised himself for being a stupid suck up like the girls who wanted to go out with him because he was 'different' and 'emo' which made him 'cool'. In their world anyway. Jonathan respected him; the way he did what he wanted, the way he just shrugged off any bullying by those who dared to bully him. It was an unspoken secret that everybody knew; Jack Napier carried a knife. He'd lost his temper before, and it wasn't pretty. He was strong for his age and slight frame. Jonathan wished he _was _Jack. He was just as skinny, but somehow it didn't look good on him. He was short, and wore glasses. He did his work, so his grades were good, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. He had no real friends, because he too was different. But he didn't look like Jack, so he wasn't 'cool'.

Thinking of Jack, was that _him_ that had just gone past the door in a blur of greenish blonde hair, and dark T shirt? Jonathan reckoned it probably was. He cursed himself, but raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Crane?"

"May I go to the bathroom, please?"

The teacher sighed. "Hurry up." Jonathan gathered up his things. He wasn't planning on coming back to the lesson. The corridors were empty, but there was only one place Jack could have been going seeing as Jonathan's Geography class room was the last one before a bathroom and a dead end. The space between the classroom and dead end was quite long though, and nobody liked to use that particular bathroom. It was old, cold and grimy, and some of the drug addicted kids in the school (it didn't have the best of reputations to say the least) used it. Jonathan pushed open the door and shivered as an icy draft blew in through the tiny window. There was a school bag dropped just at the door, and Jonathan put his down next to it, and ventured in. "Jack? Anyone here?" his voice echoed off the walls, but he heard other, unpleasant sounds above it. "Fuck off!" The voice that answered was defiant, it was definitely Jack, but he sounded different somehow. He didn't seem as tough as usual. The other sounds began again, and Jonathan wrinkled his nose. "Hey…you okay?" Jack was obviously being sick. Jonathan tentatively made his way to the source of the noise, and pushed open one of the cubicle doors. Jack was bent over the toilet bowl, trying to hold his own hair back with one hand, while steadying himself with the other. Jonathan wordlessly scraped all of the greenish locks away from the pale teen's face, and patiently waited as he retched; occasionally rubbing Jack's back.

Jack eventually scrubbed a hand across his mouth and sat back on to his knees, Jonathan catching him and kneeling down too. Jack leant back into Jonathan; screwing his eyes shut, and letting Jonathan cool his forehead with his own scarf that he had run under the cold tap. "You okay?" Jonathan asked again, seeing that Jack obviously wasn't. He noticed two long, deep cuts on his cheeks, clearly fresh, as he hadn't had them yesterday, and they were still bleeding slightly. He reached to clean off the drying blood, but Jack grabbed his wrist with lightning reflexes. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I…I'm sorry, I didn't think. It's just, you're bleeding. Jack, who _did _this to you?"

"None of your business. Look, thanks for being my mother and everything, but I don't need you, Crane."

"Sure." Jonathan backed away, to show Jack that he did, and Jack almost fell; steadying himself just in time. "If you didn't need me, you wouldn't have _let_ me help you, Jack."

"You don't know me. You don't know _anything._ There wasn't exactly much I could do to make you go away you know. Or did you not notice that I was throwing up?"

Jack stormed to his feet and stalked out of the bathroom, wobbling slightly on his feet at the doorframe, and holding on to it for a minute; clearing his head of pain and nausea. Jonathan followed; he was going to help Jack if it killed him. And it might; Jack could get nasty. But he had let Jonathan take care of him, at least a little bit. That's what confused Jonathan; he was sure he had felt _something_ between them then. But he couldn't kid himself; he had his own problems as well as Jack. _Nobody _loved Jonathan Crane. Except for someone who would never admit it. Because love meant weakness, he had been taught, and weakness was punished. He strode angrily back down the corridor, gritting his teeth. Jack walked right out of the school building, and slumped angrily on one of the swings in the junior playground. "I hate everything. Hate. Hate hate _hate._" He moodily told himself. Jonathan sat on the swing next to Jack, idly propelling himself forwards and backwards "You don't hate _everything, _Jack."

"I do. Leave me alone, you don't know me."

"Yeah, I do. We've been in class together since the beginning of school."

"I didn't mean that. You don't know anything about me, other than what you see at school. Which is fine by me." Jack was slurring his words slightly, on account of the cuts on his face. "Yeah, but it isn't fine by _me__**, **_when you come to school looking like _this_ and won't tell me why."

"It's none of your business. I've hardly even spoken to you before today! If I would tell anyone, why the hell would it be you?"

"Because I'm the only one who's going to listen. And understand, Jack. So tell me."

"It's none of your _business._"

"Is that all you say?"

"What else is there to say? It's a point I'm making." Jonathan sighed.

"You're hopeless." He got up off the swings and started to walk away.

"_What did you just call me?" _ there was venom in that voice, and Jonathan turned around to see Jack had stood up too, and was looking at him with malice.

"I said, you're hopeless. It wasn't exactly a bad insult. Just that I realise you're not going to talk to me."

"Don't _ever _call me that again." There was a long silence. "Please." Now Jack sounded lost. Beaten. Defeated. He was looking down at his feet like his shoes were the most interesting things in the world.

"Did you just say 'please'?" Jonathan was genuinely surprised.

Jack nodded miserably. He sat on the floor this time, resting his back against a climbing frame. Jonathan had never seen anyone look so small, and it was a shock, especially considering that this person biting his lip and forcing himself to breathe steadily was Jack Napier, the strange, interesting, popular kid in his classes. Nevertheless he sat down next to him. "My Dad calls me hopeless all the time. He says it's because I'll never have any friends, any money, a job." Jack swallowed. "I tell him I try so hard, but it doesn't matter, he says. And he's right. I _haven't_ got any friends, and my grades are bad."

"But…surely you realise everyone thinks you're the best?"

"Yes, but nobody wants to get to _know_ me. Except you." The last part was a whisper, and Jonathan didn't hear. "My Dad's always right. I learned that when I was really little." He lifted his shirt to show Jonathan his skinny torso; so thin that Jonathan could see his ribs, that were covered in a multitude of bruises, scars and cuts, a lot of them fairly new. "Oh Jack. Why haven't you told anyone about all this before? My parents ignore me, because they're out of their heads all the time…but they don't _hurt _me very often."

"You think I haven't _tried?_ I've given up trying, because whenever I did, they told my parents, so they said I…" Jack swallowed again, and closed his eyes. He would _not _cry, not in front of _anybody._ "They said I was a liar, doing it for attention. They said I hurt myself, and that they were always so worried. They're good actors, I'll give them that. My Mother is just too scared to defy _him._" He spat out the last word; torn between rage and anguish. "I don't blame her. He hurts her too, only he actually likes her, so it's not as bad."

"Jack…I'm so sorry. Did…did he give you these?" he indicated the scars.

"Yeah. Last night. He's a filthy drunk you see. He came into my room, and I was…he caught me…" Jack broke off. Not from sadness this time, but embarrassment. "Well, it was kinda late at night and he caught me doing something…_private_." Jonathan nodded, catching his drift. "But uh…he saw what I was reading…and he just flipped. No son of his is going to be a no good faggot, he said." Jack broke off with wide eyes. He hadn't meant to tell Jonathan that much. He bit his lip again, forcing back emotion. "So now you know my secret" he whispered, mortified.

"Hey. Come on, it's not wrong to be gay."

"Yes it is, in my house. My Dad, he just…I've never seen him so mad. He ripped up the magazine, and just started knocking over everything in my room. Not that there's much in there. And then…" A tear finally spilled from Jack's eye, despite how he tried to keep it at bay. He wiped it away angrily, and gritted his teeth again, finding that it hurt too much to keep it up for long. Jonathan put an arm around him. Jack wouldn't like it, he thought, but then again, Jack was like this, so different, so maybe it would be accepted. And it was, gratefully. Jack leant into Jonathan for the second time that day, not bothering to wipe his eyes any more. Jonathan had seen him like this for long enough, and he didn't want to keep it in any more. "And then he started to really lay into me. He…he found my knife, and that made it all worse. Now I was a no good, evil, rough, nasty faggot. He used it. He. Used. My. Knife. Dug it deep into my face, with my Mother watching. He called her through to watch her faggot son get marked and cut. He told me to cheer up, because he'd put a smile on my face. And…this is what it looks like. I'm a freak. And it hurts. Jonathan, it still hurts." He clung on to Jonathan; burying his head in his shoulder. He made no noise, but his shoulders were shaking. Jonathan reached for his hand, tentatively. Jack wouldn't go so far as to hold on, but he didn't pull away. "Jack. I've got a secret too. I…I think I…love…you." Jonathan whispered the word 'love'. Jack slowly pulled away from Jonathan, and looked into his eyes. "No you don't. Nobody _loves_ Jack Napier." Jonathan's heart sank. Jack would never really trust anybody. But he had to take what he could get. "I mean it Jack. I love you." It was easier to say after the first time. Jack was still looking straight into his eyes. "Please" Jonathan whispered, not sure what he was asking for. But the soft, hesitant kiss was more than welcome.


End file.
